


A Fall From Grace

by JensenisaGhost, TheArtOfSuicide



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice (Cartoon 1989), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: F/M, Incest, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Roleplay Logs, That's right, are you proud of us daddy satan?, we took beetlebabes and turned it into incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24440257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JensenisaGhost/pseuds/JensenisaGhost, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtOfSuicide/pseuds/TheArtOfSuicide
Summary: "Like so many ill-fated maidens before her, Lydia had fallen victim to the serpent in her garden. Mother warned her, didn't she? Never talk to strangers, never let them in. She just couldn't listen."A Greek Mythology-inspired AU RP that drops our favorite ghost and girl into the roles of Hades and Persephone. WIP.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	A Fall From Grace

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ!** What follows is a copied-and-pasted roleplay between **JensenIsAGhost** and myself, **TheArtOfSuicide**. She is playing as Betelgeuse and I am playing Lydia. Because of the nature of roleplay, the point of view changes often and you will see each event as it was perceived by our renditions of these characters. It's being posted here so that we can have a comprehensive archive to look back on and reread easily rather than having to dig through messages and docs. Please be warned going in that this may never have a clean or concise ending as that is not the point of roleplay.
> 
> **Reminder that this was something that was meant to be fun, not judged. Therefore constructive criticism is not welcome.**

Centuries. Betelgeuse had spent centuries as the King of the Underworld after escaping being swallowed by his own father.

It was a lonely existence, he avoided the bullshit mingling and orgies up at Olympus, couldn't stand the small talk and prattle. He got work done though, did his job as he was supposed to and he loved that people feared him.

Today he needed ambrosia, and he knew that Evelyn had a plethora in her measly little abode in the mortal realm.

Walking through the fields up to her cabin, he came across a girl sitting amongst the flowers... A beautiful girl. Young, obsidian hair and skin like snow.

"You! Nymph! Where is Evelyn?"

* * *

Compared to the other Gods and Goddesses on high, including her all-knowing and wise Mother, Lydia was little more than an infant. Born during the eternal summer, she had only existed just long enough for the mortals to begin noticing and singing praise of her great beauty and the well of luck her presence brought; bountiful crops and healthy babies.

Mother was proud of her indeed, keeping her hidden here most days in this lovely grove of her own creation, dedicated to her only child. On the very rare occasion she was shown to the public, she was never let far from Mother's side.

She _ached_ for freedom. This was the only place she got to be truly alone and free from Mother's expectations, free to indulge the fantasy of a life of her own choosing.

_Nymph?_

Who was this dark stranger staring down at her as she wove a crown of black roses to mark her dour mood? This was _her_ garden!

"I'm not a _nymph._ "

Jerk. Without sparing him a second glance, entirely unimpressed by the intimidating figure he cut, she returned to weaving around the thorns, their sharp edges never plucking opaline flesh.

"‒ and I don't know _where_ Mother is. Find her yourself, I'm sure she's _dying_ for attention."

* * *

The corners of his mouth quirked up into a sickening grin. _She was feisty…_ When was the last time anybody, God or nymph, dared to speak to him in such a manner? If his brothers or sisters spat such words at him, he would have his soldiers storming Olympus and slitting throats within the hour.

He glanced down as the girl wove petals and stem into intricate patterns, creating a crown. Her fingers would graze and push into the threatening thorns, but no flesh was broken. His little flower was a Goddess. A Goddess with fantasies of a crown atop her head…

 _Fitting for what he had in mind_.

"So Evelyn has a daughter? Smart to keep you so hidden away like this… Someone might be enticed to _eat you up_ …"

He bent down on one knee beside her, taking a smooth lock of her hair between his fingers and twisting it. She didn't quite have the rounded out curves of Barbara, the radiant golden skin of Delia… But this girl awoke something inside of him, darker than he would ever let on and sicker than the souls condemned to the River Styx.

**He had to have her.**

* * *

Lydia had no knowledge of cold or evil, had no reason to susupect the stranger in her garden of ill intent. No such atrocities had ever been exposed to her innocent mind. Already, she was feeling guilty for snapping at him like that when truly it was her overbearing Mother she was upset with, though she disagreed with his assessment of her deeply unfair imprisonment.

"Smart…" she repeated in a quiet huff, tone still colored with petulance. "It's _cruel_. And why would anyone want to _eat_ me? That's just silly."

There was fruit _everywhere_ , wasn't there? Lydia had never stepped foot in a domain that didn't have branches swinging heavy with the most luscious and delicious burden of she and her mother's efforts. It made her sad when she saw that mortals sometimes killed and ate their animals in spite of the sustenance she and Mother provided for them, but it was "the natural way of things" Mother explained.

The stranger was knelt in front of her now, playing with her hair. Lydia didn't mind. Mother played with her hair often, twisting it in pretty little braids and placing whichever flowers were her favorite that day.

The crown was done. In love with it, she worked around the stranger's creeping hand to place it proudly on atop her head of long, wavy raven locks, so starkly different from Mother and Father's gleaming strands of gold. No, she wasn't anything like them. _Not at all._

Mood shifting, quite proud of herself, she beamed up at him, pleased by his obvious interest in her and the funny jokes he made.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you. There's nothing wrong with nymphs. Do you like my crown? Do you want one? There's nothing _she_ can do that I can't."

* * *

He frowned at his little flower as she declared her life thus far as cruel. But it was true, if she had been to an Olympus event by now, she would have been claimed and he never would have had the pleasure of being in her garden.

"Well, little flower… sometimes a woman is so beautiful, a man gets... _jealous_. He doesn't want anybody else to see the treasure he has, and so he will swallow her whole…"

He grinned as he spun the story into something like a fairy tale, drawing in the soil with a stick to reiterate. But he knew if it took swallowing her whole to keep this Goddess as his, then swallow her whole he would.

His fingers left her hair to stroke the petals of her crown, his other hand starting at her knee and sliding up her creamy thighs. "I would love a crown... I could make yours into silver and rubies if you wish. Anything you want, flower…"

Next, he leaned into her, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear, taking in her scent. She smelled of dew, fresh linens…. Life. He had found a love.

"I am Betelgeuse, _and you are my queen…_ "

* * *

The story he told was horrifying, almost enough to distract her from the cold, calloused palm trailing up her leg. This didn't feel like her Mother's sinless touching. This was wrong. Still, Lydia wasn't _sure_. What if he was telling the truth? What if it was normal for people to touch each other this way?

She didn't want to embarrass herself.

"I'm not." Her brows furrowed in abject confusion at his bold declaration. Did Mother know about this? Had she arranged a marriage behind her back? Puzzled, frustrated tears pricked at her eyes, but she worked hard to blink them away. Cool breath and lips moving over the sensitive flesh of her ear made her tummy boil, made her ever more aware of the fingers pressing curiously against her inner thigh.

"What's… sil-ver?" She knew only of the delights that grew from the ground, nothing of the harsh beauties found under the mud and rock and fossils. "People don't swallow other… _people_. It's not true, it isn't! You're just _teasing_ me."

Perhaps she had bitten off more than she could chew here. Maybe there were things Mother could do that she couldn't‒ such as dealing with the insane intruder in her grove.

"Mother!" She cried out, not sounding nearly as alarmed as she should have. Little did Lydia know, Mother dearest was far from within earshot, ignorant to the goings-on in what she thought was her secret grove. _"Mother!"_

The second cry was more shrill.

"I don't know where she is," her breath was coming in quicker. Her cheeks felt hot. Unable to help herself despite her fears of offending him somehow, she curled back and away from his touch. It was making her feel much too much, more than she had ever felt in her short‒ by an immortal's standards‒ existence.

"She's here. _She'll come._ She's who you want. I'm not… I'm _not_ who you think I am."

* * *

He chuckled low in his belly at her distress. She reminded him so much of a frightened child, but in a way that's exactly what she was.

Plucking her crown right off of her head, he touched the petals, breathed into them… And before her eyes, they melted away to reveal a cold, shiny surface. The crown she made grew heavy in his palms, and fine cut rubies embedded themselves into the base.

"This, darling, is silver… Your new crown. I hope you appreciate this gift."

Betelgeuse hummed and gingerly placed the heavy object back on her head. She was exquisite, skin like fragile snowflakes under his rough hand.

"Oh yes… My own father did! I was younger than you... Just a boy. And he picked me up and gobbled me down... So count your blessings princess."

The last scream she let out caused his hand to stretch over her petal-soft lips, not needing that nagging Evelyn to come and stop him. Once all her pleas were muffled against his palm, he reached across her body to unclip her wrap dress, opening it so she was bare before him.

"A fine wife, indeed.." A deep growl escaped from his core and he couldn't resist running his fingers along her folds as his excitement made itself known against her thigh.

* * *

Lydia could no longer hold back her frightened tears. Only once she stopped crying out beneath the heavy mitt of his palm did he free her mouth so she could speak, but then it was only to listen to the way her confused words hitched and quivered while he violated her.

"Please stop," she entreated hopefully, pulling insistently at the hand between her thighs. She was only allowed to admire the pretty foreign "silver" and "rubies" for a few seconds before he put the heavy thing back on her head and robbed her of her garment.

"I'm not _supposed_ to do this. Mother said that‒ that no man is meant to have me."

Lydia never understood what she meant by that, but this… _this_ must be what she was always going on about.

"Please! She'll _hate_ me! I don't want to get in trouble!"

Her smaller, more delicate hands were like a gentle breeze against the determination of the arm between her legs, thick sausage fingers caressing her in a place no one, not even herself, had ever explored. A strange-looking hunk of flesh sprung forth from between his thighs, _something_ for where she had _nothing_. At that moment, as much as Lydia feared her Mother's wrath, she also hated her for keeping her ignorant as to what it was supposed to be. If she knew, maybe she would have a better understanding of what this stranger wanted from her.

Panic heightened the longer they carried on, her struggling pathetically in his lap while he chuckled and played like she was an amusing toy.

_"Don't eat me!"_

* * *

His seemingly kind eyes had darkened, misted over with lust and want. This girl was sheltered, pure, something he could mold into what he wanted. He reveled in the way her chest expanded with panicked breaths, the way her hand couldn't properly wrap around his wrist.

"Hush, child! I will eat you… and you will beg for _more_." Betelgeuse spoke harshly, silencing her with a dangerous look. He waited a pregnant moment, closing his eyes as his broad body covered hers and the corners of his lips widened as a rumble entered their bellies.

Lydia was his point of focus as his hand entered the soil. His fingertips, then the knuckle, thumb, wrist, and elbow. His strength seemed to split the earth beneath her back, and she fell…

Through darkness which seemed like an eternity, the light never touching her skin again or making the flowers bloom.

The next time she could remember light was when she opened her eyes. He was sleeping beneath a tree, her head in his lap. But the soil was cold, no grass or flowers grew… there was nothing in this abyss but the tree, bearing strange red fruit.

* * *

Like so many ill-fated maidens before her, Lydia had fallen victim to the serpent in her garden. Mother warned her, didn't she? Never talk to strangers, never let them in. She just couldn't listen.

Upon returning to the waking realm, she was instantly aware that something was very, very wrong. It was so _cold_. Pale lips trembled as she curled naked flesh closer to the one who had torn her through the veil to bring her here.

The warmth he offered was non-existent, but he had flesh, and felt humanoid enough that her poor body didn't know the difference. No grass or flowers sprung up beneath her to cradle the way it usually did when she laid upon the Earth for a nap. This soil remained dry and barren, little more than sand.

Its rejection made her cry anew, trailing short pale fingers through the unresponsive dirt.

"Why won't it listen to me? What's wrong with it?"

Scared and cold and confused, nothing to her name but the heavy crown still on her head, the poor girl had no choice but to weep into her unsympathetic captor's lap. Not even her divine tears were able to inspire growth in the lifeless dust when they dripped from her cheeks to the ground.

"I want to go back home," she cried, well aware that it was useless. _"I want my Mama…"_

* * *

The familiarity of his own world caused a comforting weight to settle in his chest. The poor girl had passed out, not uncommon for somebody who had just fallen through realms for the first time, but he was where he thrived. Hardly anything grew here, but pomegranates were the fruit of the Underworld, and prospered in his garden.

He felt his new companion shift in his lap, crying like a child ripped from the womb.

"Little flower… Stop your sniveling and take your hands out of the dirt."

He captured her fragile wrists and brushed off the dusty remains of soil on her porcelain skin. The sight of her tear-stained cheeks and disheveled hair made it so he couldn't help but take the crown from its rightful place on her head and set it aside. He went to brushing through the stubborn knots in her hair with his fingers and sat her upright.

"You get to be home now… You're a Queen here in the Underworld, my Princess…"

He hummed low in his throat and grasped her chin in an iron grip, claiming her lips for his own without mercy. There was no tenderness or pity in his kiss, just primal need, possessiveness.

* * *

Lydia strived to please, to listen and make the tears stop before he grew any angrier. It was easier to do while he ran his fingers through her hair the way she liked, but still, her lovely countenance remained crumpled with fear and despair.

_The Underworld._

Worlds beyond the one Mother allowed her to see sometimes wove their way into her bedtime stories. She knew of Olympus, where the Father she wasn't allowed to meet lived with the rest of her family. She knew of the Ocean, where her Uncle provided dominion over the sea nymphs and coursing waves. The other place... where her _other_ Uncle ruled… it wasn't a place that Mother liked to talk about, ignoring any questions Lydia had about death and what happened to mortals once they passed.

All these thoughts flashed through Lydia's head in a blurring rush as she succumbed to her first real kiss, and the truth of this "Betelgeuse's" identity became woefully clear to her addled mind.

He was **King** , the only one on this plane with any authority to name and choose its Queen.

"Uncle," she whimpered once he freed her mouth long enough that she could speak, delicate lips puffy and bruised. "I‒ I didn't mean to upset you. I didn't _know_ ‒ but‒ but Mother will miss me. She'll be looking for me. I don't want her to worry. Please… _please_ let me return… I promise I'll come back to you."

Lydia didn't have the proper guile to pull off such an egregious lie, but hopefully, Betelgeuse wouldn't be able to read through the blatant show of deception.

* * *

He watched her with a curious glint in his eyes, chasing after her lips as she managed to pry her own away. Sweet Olympus… she was something. A real challenge. Betelguese couldn't wait to pry her open and pick the pieces he wanted, only to leave her exposed. She would have to come back to him, having no choice but to beg him to put her back together.

He took in her bruised lips, proud of his work, and wondered how else he could bruise those perfect petals.

But when his little bride pleaded with him to return to her life up in her mother's domain, he sneered. "So… My beautiful _niece…._ I give you a crown forged from the most precious metals and jewels... I give you the title of a Queen! And you repay me with begging?"

He spoke in an inhuman growl, deep down in his body. Strong arms darted out to grasp her own and drag her up onto her feet, detailing just how large he was. The head of his little niece only reached the bottom of his breastplate, and he let the thought of how easy it would be to wrap his fist around her fragile throat dance across his mind.

He must have looked quite unhinged to her as he ripped a fruit off of the tree, tearing it in half with his meaty mitts, the juice pouring down his flesh like fresh blood. Betelgeuse thrust half the fruit towards her and forced her to take it, with his hands on hers.

" _ **EAT!"**_

* * *

Panic flooded her being at his show of dominion over her, more so than Lydia was able to cull. The instinct to fight or fly was kicking into overdrive. Like a fool, she chose both.

_**"NO!"** _

Finding a burst of energy within her, likely from having a source of life and vegetation so close at hand, she shoved the broken pomegranate upwards until his big ugly nose was crushed into the fruit, seeds and juices making a mess of his face. If circumstances weren't so pressing, she would have found it a funny sight indeed and spent long minutes making light-hearted jokes at his expense.

Unfortunately, Lydia did not have the mercy of time and goodwill at her disposal. While he was distracted, she took the opportunity to turn tail and _run_ , bare as the day she was born. She passed through a stone arch and her heart lurched at the revelation that the poor tree that bred such delicious-looking fruit was forced to live inside.

Why would anyone do that to a poor, defenseless tree? Why not let it grow and breathe in Apollo's light? Come to think of it, Lydia hadn't seen any light since arriving in this hellish pit, had she?

Her frantic run came to a stop beside a large window cut out of the cold stone this palace seemed to be made of. What she saw took her breath away.

 _It was beautiful_.

* * *

Betelgeuse coughed and choked as potent juice from the pomegranate entered his nose and eyes, the sting temporarily blinded him and he let go of his captive's wrists to claw at his eyes and will away the burning.

_She had made her choice…_

And a wrong choice at that. He was happy to treat her as his Queen, wait on her hand and foot. But if his bride wanted to play victim, he was more than delighted to treat her as such!

As the burning toned down, he looked after her as she bolted from his grasp and out of the glass room he had built. He could play hide and seek… and it was only fair that he gave her a head start. When he decided she had a sufficient amount of time, he got to his feet and came after her.

The halls echoed and he expertly weaved his way through the stone palace he had raised, turning the corner to see her bare back to him, staring out the window that overlooked _his world…_

He shrugged his broad shoulders back, letting his black dressings fall off of his form as he came to stand behind her. The seemingly endless sea outside the window glowed with lost souls, ripples caused by their desperation trying to escape the surface.

The thought of her sitting at his throne caused his hand to wrap around his manhood. He was thick, hardly being able to cover the girth of his cock with his own hand. Looking down the curve of her back sealed the deal for Betelgeuse, and he wrapped one hand around her chest the other around her stomach. With one pull backward, he sheathed his throbbing cock inside of his little flower, ripping through her maidenhood.

* * *

Above, in the world of sun and light and happiness, a mother was discovering the loss of her daughter. The grass around her began to brown, rippling outward from the despairing woman as if she was a stone dropped into an ocean, tainting its waters with her great anguish. Lydia's favorite tree began to cripple and die, worthless without Evelyn's love and care.

And thus the eternal Summer came to its end.

Below, in the realm of shadow and death and pain, Lydia was getting her first-ever taste of it. She had been privileged and kept well enough to not even have experienced so much as a scraped knee in her short existence. Mother never would have let such ugliness come to pass.

But Mother wasn't here.

The scream Lydia unleashed upon her deflowering was otherworldly. Spirits in the waters below paused their moaning even to listen, to watch as their King claimed his Queen. _"Mama!"_ she cried out uselessly over and over again, clinging to the window as though she meant to toss herself over the edge as soon as she had the freedom to.

There was no pleasure here, no love and tenderness. Only harsh, pulsating **pain**. What had she done to make her Uncle hate her so much?

"I'm sorry," she sobbed brokenly as he slaked his brutal lust on her, speaking directly to him now rather than the Mother that obviously wasn't going to come. "I didn't _mean_ it… _I'm so sorry_ …"

* * *

After his initial attack on her precious body, he willed himself to still inside of her, her pleas ringing loudly in his ear. He looked past the back of her head and forward towards the spirits, their responses enough for him to take mercy.

"Shhh… No time now for apologies, Princess… But I do think you've had enough hurt for the day. Now it's time to let Daddy take care of you…"

He pressed his cold lips against the back of her neck, stilling her as he gently pulled himself from her body, lifting her feather-light body against his and walking back into the shadows. It was dark and cold, holding her to him had no effect on the temperature.

The creek of a door cut through the silence, and then she was set onto a plush mattress, protected by silk sheets. He didn't light a candle, letting her take solace in the dark as a sort of comfort so he could claim her body in a different way.

Betelgeuse waited until her breath evened out, then he settled himself between her thighs, holding them open with no effort. "Little flower… I'm going to make you feel good. And you will thank me when I do so."

His wants resonated in his throat, and he lowered his mouth to the apex of her thighs, licking a hot strip up to her sensitive bud. He repeated this action to his liking before closing his lips around the center of her pleasure and sucking firmly.

* * *

Tears and breaths calming, she clung to him as he took her deeper still into the shadows. He was the only source of comfort here, the only hope she had left for salvation. If she listened and was kind, he wouldn't hurt her again. She didn't even speak up to correct him when he mistakenly dubbed himself her father. He _couldn't_ be. Not unless Mother was lying, and Mother never lied.

No, better to let him think what he would. He didn't like it when she disagreed. It was kind of him to let her wallow in the shadows, trying to come to terms with what had happened to her‒ what was _still_ happening to her. For a long while, he laid there with her on the bed in the dark, doing little more than light petting as she exhausted herself emotionally.

Once it was clear there wasn't any fight left in her, he moved, sliding down her aching form to take up residence between her thighs and whisper impossible promises. The crux of her thighs was raw and tender from his abuse, and she cringed into the shadows at the unknown of what torture he had in store for her.

Therefore, it was a shock when his cold tongue descended to lathe between the molten flesh of her swollen labia. A high-pitched shriek of surprise filled the chamber until Lydia clasped both hands over her mouth to muffle herself, fearful that he would react unfavorably to her involuntary sounds.

But then he did it again. _And again_ , his ravenous mouth never lifting from the area he'd savaged with his cock‒ _kissing it all better_. Pressure built up in her tummy, bubbling up her chest until a guttural cry, deeper and huskier than the others she let him have, could not be contained behind the muffle of her quivering fingers.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again, thick with misguided guilt and terror. She liked him like this. If he was mean to her again, she just wouldn't be able to take it.

* * *

The moment he tasted her sweet flesh on his tongue, he decided that he was content to live between her thighs. The fates could handle his affairs and he could convince Juno to cover for him… God, what he wouldn't give.

He forced the fantasies away to live in the moment, deciding to lift her squirming legs over his shoulders so that he could grip either side of her thighs. Her sounds fueled him, encouraging him to devour her deeply.

His fingers started to explore the pool of her desire as his tongue swirled around her bud. When her thighs relaxed around his head, he rewarded her with a single finger entering her wet heat. He worked that finger in and out, waiting until he felt her hips buck up towards his face to add a second, rubbing both of his fingers in an upwards motion inside of her.

Betelgeuse couldn't help but be proud of his work as her thighs tightened around his ears and her clit throbbed against his tongue. Her release was welcomed on his face, and he took his time in gently lapping it up as a starving, neglected dog would.

Satisfied that she was finished, he pushed off of her and rolled onto his back, his cock angry and standing at full attention.

* * *

It was a day of firsts for Lydia. Just as she had never known pain, she was equally woefully ignorant to the expanse of pleasure the world had to offer‒ that _he_ had to offer. It was unlike anything she had ever felt, her vision whiting out in the dark even as she shook and cried out beneath him, no longer putting in the effort to muffle herself.

Hot jolts of euphoria pulsed out from her center, making her forget all about the pain from before. It was gone. _Healed_. As if he had never pierced her through with his blunt sword. All Lydia was aware of as she came back from the aftershocks was bliss. Pure, unfettered bliss.

Seeking comfort after returning to the shadows, better adjusted to the dark now but still blind as a newborn kitten, she curled into his side as if by instinct, cuddling in close and slipping her thigh over his. The thing he used to hurt her brushed against her briefly and she quickly adjusted to break contact. She didn't want to do _that_ again.

"Thank you," she hushed sweetly, the way he had told her she was supposed to. Despite the obligatory nature of her gratitude, it was genuine. It wouldn't do to restoke his ire now that he was being sweet to her again. Erratic and terrifying as his mood swings were, she was hesitant to speak at all, but she dared at least one question. She _needed_ to know, needed the information to cope with the precarious situation she now found herself in. The answer could make or break her.

"Do you love me?"

* * *

Her question caused him to wince. He had just stolen her innocence, done acts to her which he was willing to bet his everlasting soul on that she couldn't even name. He had done things to her that could break a person, and his little flower asked if he loved her…

He glanced over at his bride and let his eyes rake over her form, being well adjusted to the night so he had no need for lit candles. Her gorgeous long locks were mussed up and spread across his pillows, a thin sheen of sweat spread across her chest.

His bride was living… Gorgeous... Comparable to the innocence of a bud before bloom. And then there was Betelguese himself... He was cold, his hands were rough and unwelcoming, hair was a mess he never could tame. Even his gut stuck out, pressing into her side.

He was so unworthy.

But he would _never_ let her go.

"I love you more than anything… Ask for the moon and I will give it to you."

* * *

The intensity of his declaration brought fresh, emotional tears to her eyes. She believed him... but was also able to pick up on what he wasn't saying. He wouldn't give her _anything_ she wanted. He wouldn't return her to the other person who loved her, the only one she loved. Pale icy pink lips parted, but the plea to _please, please bring me back to my mommy_ never escaped.

"I'm scared," she admitted instead, feeling very small and powerless in his big arms in that big bed. What if she said the wrong thing and he hurt her again? _Swallowed her whole?_ What kind of love was it that he offered exactly?

It seemed to Lydia that she had just been extracted from one prison to another.

"In the water out there… those were _people_."

The haunting beauty of the landscape only marginally distracted her from his eternally drowning subjects, withered souls crawling all over each other in a fruitless grasp for freedom. She pitied them, and that weakness was what had allowed him to capture her again.

"What happened to them? _They're hurting_. The Earth here is sad too. I don't‒" _belong here_. "I don't know how to be a Queen. What if I mess up? What if they hate me?"

She was working herself up again into a bundle of anxiety with no one and nothing to ease her woes but her new jailkeeper.

_"You don't even know my name."_

Convinced that she had crossed yet another line in criticizing him this way and asking so many stupid questions at once, she began to shake, fresh hot tears burning into his chubby side as she burrowed her face closer, hiding from him against him.

* * *

She was scared… Of course, she was. He had been nothing but tyrannical to her since their first words in the field, yet he had no regrets in chasing his passion.

"I know you're scared… You should be. But if you listen to your husband and are a good little girl for him, then you will want for nothing…"

He captured her delicate wrist and brought it up to his lips, trailing gently kisses from her elbow to her palm. He thought briefly to the souls trapped in the River Styx. He had no qualms about listening to them cry and moan. It was eternal damnation, and they had all done things to deserve landing in there.

"Not people, Flower… Just their souls. The lost ones… But you don't have to be afraid of them. As long as you don't dip your toes in, they won't bite them off…"

He grinned wolfishly and traced his fingers up the curve of her side. His kingdom was surrounded by the river, and as long as it put fear into her heart, she wouldn't try to run from him.

"No one could hate a face so radiant… And if they did, I would hang them from their feet and strip the skin from their bodies… No soul will hate you. They'll worship you, just like your King does… Now be a good girl, _and tell me your name_."

* * *

She could be a good girl. She could listen.

 _Or she could run away_.

"I'm not afraid of them."

It was true. The way they moaned and called out for love gave her nothing but grief. She longed to embrace them, free them of their strife.

It wasn't fair. There were so _many_ of them. Even from the great distance, she could see smaller bodies, children and infants among the wash of mangled spirit stuff. What great crime could they possibly have committed to deserve such a horrid existence?

"They _are_ people."

He was just _wrong_. For a split second, despite a fear of retribution, wet cheekbones sharp, chin defiant, and honey eyes glaring gold in the shadows, a flash of that petulance that first attracted him made a return. In that second, she was ready to take whatever he wanted to dish out in order to defend the honor of her assumed subjects.

Then she broke down again, remembering pain, and evil, and how very stupid she was to be there at all. What did she know anyway? Better than to provoke him again so soon, that's what.

 _"Lydia,"_ she hushed quiet as a field mouse when he asked, shaken by the gruesome punishments he described for those who might give her any hardship.

Either he didn't know his own strength or was purposefully pulling her closer up on top of him as he brushed those soft cold kisses down her arm, closer and closer until she was splayed over his gut, the smooth, hard rod of flesh between his legs situated comfortably against her knee and thigh.

"My name is Lydia," she repeated again louder, worried he hadn't heard and not wishing to make him ask again.

* * *

There was that spirit… He couldn't wait to break her.

As he slowly guided her warm flesh to cover his, he let a soft groan escape his lips. The heat… She embodied the world he was shunned from, one he was allowed to touch.

But now his girl wanted to debate his views on the dead souls, a stance he would refuse to budge on. Betelgeuse was not a man to compromise with. A dead soul who entered the river would never see the light of day again.

"They are NOT people, Lydia… I don't want to hear you say that again." He sneered and grasped her chin, forcing her to look into his yellowing eyes. "Your name sounds so sweet on those lips. Let me taste them."

He brought her head down to capture her lips in his, gently prodding with his tongue for access as his hips moved up against her, his throbbing member rubbing against her thigh. Is this what he had resorted to? Dry humping his little Goddess for any sense of relief? He could just take her, just as he did before… But he wanted her to be… happy?

* * *

_Fine_. He could threaten and intimidate her into silence, but he would never quiet her mind, could never control her thoughts. They _were_ people, and who was he to decide otherwise? Just another overblown, entitled King‒ just like her true father. At least, that's who he was according to Mother, and Mother knew _everything_.

If she was to be a ruler, she would be different from them. Better. She would show them, all of them! They all thought she was so _weak_ , did they? She was no _nymph_. She was **Lydia** , the only progeny of Evelyn and Charles; Goddess of Spring and Life and, most recently, _Queen of the Damned_.

If he thought he would be keeping her around as little more than a pretty little lap warmer while he occupied the throne, _he had another thing coming_.

These were the rebellious thoughts that warred through Lydia's mind as he staked his dominion once more, demanding entrance to her mouth which was only very reluctantly given. His hips tilted searchingly up, and despite his generous gentility, she tensed all over again when his rigid girth made contact with her slick, licked clean entrance.

There was nothing that could be done to stop this, however, no matter how many courageous, masochistic thoughts she had. There were only two options here; the easy way and the _hard_ way. The choice was clear. With great effort, she forced herself to relax, lips softening to his exploration and tension ever-so-slowly leaving her wound tight muscles.

* * *

He could feel the wheels turning in her head, the way her finger twitched against his chest through the silence just proved it to him. He focused on the feeling of his neglected manhood sliding against the creamy flesh of her thigh, but that wasn't enough…

As she tensed against him, he growled softly as a warning. How rude of his Lydia to get hers, and then deny him his! But she wouldn't deny him, he wouldn't allow it. Because Betelgeuse was the King, he did her a _favor_ by taking her from the grimy mud and dirt. He did her a favor by taking her from the boredom of the mortal realm.

He could see it… Lydia sitting in her cabin with her mother, the fire burning down to the embers in the fireplace as they read and fixed up lentil soup in their pot. Day after day that would be her life. Betelgeuse had rescued her, placed a crown upon her head, set a fire burning in her belly, and not just the fireplace!

Lydia _owed_ him. She should kneel at his feet and kiss his boots, beg for his love.

But he was a good man, and he would give her his love freely, nothing in exchange…

His mind reeled as thoughts of her consumed him, hardly noticing as he pulled her up to straddle his waist, sliding his burning flesh between her nether folds, then prodding at her entrance.

With one more nip at her ravaged lips, he cupped her pert ass with both of his hand and angled her hips up to sheath himself inside of her. Sweet Olympus… Slick and ready from the attention he gave to her with his tongue. Her cunt was deep and soft, squeezing his cock as he filled her body, as they became one.

* * *

Nothing could have prepared her for his second taking of her. She expected pain and ache, tensing up in fear once she anticipated his coming penetration. That wasn't smart of her, but it was _different_ now. There was agony, yes, but the worst, sweetest, most inconceivable pleasure mingled with it, overpowering her senses until she was grasping him with genuine intent, eyes screwed shut and jaw dropped wide in a silent scream.

Then, he moved. She wasn't ready for this either, gasping and digging blunt fingernails into his toughened, hairy chest. Contrarily, he had claws and didn't hesitate to use them in conjunction with his domineering strength to position her how he wanted. A twist of his wrists had her seated upright, grip softening for a moment to let gravity sink her more fully onto him without assistance.

"Uncle," she pled, forgetting herself, confused by all these new sensations. Squirming and wiggling all the way, she finally met the obscenely thick base of his cock. He let her stay there for a while so she could come to terms with her impalement. He was so _deep_. Every little motion and twitch made her acutely aware of how big he was, how much stronger than her he was, how stubbornly he was rooted to the center of her being.

She braced her hands on his furry, rounded gut for purchase. Having no real frame of reference for what an attractive man was supposed to look like, he was her only baseline. He wasn't handsome. At least, Lydia didn't think he was. He was _fearsome,_ however, especially with the way his snaggled teeth showed as he grimaced and arched his back up beneath her, pressing impossibly closer and deeper.

Was he in pain as well? He looked like he was, and for a brief moment, Lydia pitied him until her senses returned.

"I don't‒" she shifted as if to pull off of him, only for the relaxed claws on her buttocks to dig in and anchor her deep again, pulling a melodious cry from her chest. "I don't know _how_. You have to _help_."

* * *

A reptilian hiss escaped his dry lips as the supple young girl gasped and wiggled in his lap. In his wildest dreams, he couldn't have fathomed such a specimen like her. And now the dream in front of his own eyes, and he vowed to take everything from her body for himself.

Then that disgusting word left her lips… _Uncle…_

His grubby hand came to her slender throat, squeezing just enough for it to be a threat. "I want that word out of your vocabulary… You may say Sir, Daddy, or my name for now on." He caught her bottom lip between his teeth and bucked his hips up as a warning.

It was beyond amusing to see her deep eyes rake over his body as his meaty cock stretched out her tender walls. Sure he wasn't an Adonis, quite honestly he was hideous compared to his brothers. But he took pride in knowing what he could do to a woman, how he could make them quiver and gush with a glance.

With his filthy nails embedding in her buttocks he began to move her forwards and backward. "Just like this… Don't be afraid to grind that pretty little pussy down on me… And make sure you bounce so I can watch your tits jiggle." He smirked disgustingly and pressed upwards so his balls were tight against her ass and aching.

* * *

Lydia had never had anyone to call "Daddy" before, often experiencing jealousy when watching mortal girls with their fathers. It was not uncommon for fathers to take daughters for their wives. By no means was it a common practice or encouraged, from what Lydia had seen, but it wasn't necessarily frowned upon either. Could she use him to fill that void?

"Daddy," she whimpered as she writhed, trying it out on her tongue. It felt dirty and wrong, but no more so than calling him by his true title. "What's a… a _pussy_?"

She had a vague idea of what he probably meant, but had never heard such a word before and needed clarification. The way he pulled her back and forth over his lap, showing her what to do, forcing his fat cock to squeeze deeper into her insides and churn around her guts drove her speechless. She could only babble nonsensically, shifting her hips back and forth to follow the rhythm he set once he stopped forcing her to grind into his lap.

Soon, she didn't require any further instruction at all. Her body already knew what to do. Chasing a high she didn't know she wanted, it wasn't long before she was arching and crying out, bouncing atop his thick cock the way he had told her to.

* * *

Innocent. Pure. He loved everything about his Goddess, especially the way her tiny body could take his manhood and give him those delicious sounds in response.

"Here-" He thumbed over her folds, his cock embedded deep between them, "-That's your pussy. But it's mine now, everything you are is mine now." He spoke in a deep rumble, almost inaudible through his lust

Betelgeuse sat up and pushed the stray hair back and away from her face, giving her a firm kiss before lowering his head to let his wide tongue lave over the hardened bud of her nipple. He set a rhythm of licking and sucking at the soft flesh before putting his attention to the other neglected breast.

He was a proud man in the sense of how long he could last in bed with a woman, but even a God had limits as his balls drew up tight and his base pulsed within her.

With a demon-like roar, he gripped her slender hips under his hands and forced her down so the spongy tip of his cock pressed into her cervix. He finally got his release and hot ropes of his semen shot into her womb, seemingly a never-ending supply until he allowed himself to collapse down onto the bed and catch his breath.

"Shit… That's a good girl, princess."

* * *

Why did he continue to call her that? _Princess._ Did he or did he not mean her to be Queen? Lydia daren't question it. The glow from what pleasure he forced out of her helped balm all of her anger and confusion and fear and sadness, but it couldn't make it go away. Together they lay there, her husband panting and happy beneath her while she stared out into the darkness with wide eyes, mind racing.

His mood swings were rapid and unpredictable. A thousand questions ached to be released at the tip of her tongue, but she didn't know which one might rile him against her again. The longer all those nasty emotions were left to toil in the dark, even as her overworked form relaxed and melded over his, the less Lydia was willing to tolerate it.

"This will not be what you believe it's going to be…" she spoke dreamily, prophetically almost, as an oracle on the verge of sleep though in truth she couldn't be anything further. "... and I will not be who you believe I should be."

There was no opening for debate if he were so inclined to give one, which she assumed he would. Lydia fully expected his wrath for the truth she dared to speak now, boneless and draped over him as she was, completely at his mercy. Whatever the punishment, it was worth it. She would hold her tongue for Mother, who loved her and treated her well, but not for this man who would keep her subjugated at his feet and call it "love".

"You're older than me, and stronger, and you know more… but you don't know enough. For now, I'm yours. But… only for now."

* * *

He fumed and glowered at his new bride, watching as such defiant and ugly words left her perfect lips. He was a good husband, no? He would keep a roof over her head, food in her belly, and warmth on her skin despite the lingering freeze in the air of the underground.

He had options for her punishment. First, he could leave her without water until her lips dried and bled her sweet blood so she couldn't speak her disobedient words to him. Or he could leave her without food, wait until her supple flesh was nothing but skin stretched over bone. That way she would be appreciative for what he provided her with.

He was compelled the most to leave her in the cold overnight in only what she was born with, she would beg for his warmth after feeling the bite of the cruel night…

But no.

He would be _kind_ to her but show no more attention. The flower would beg for him once true loneliness set in and she was left with nothing but her own company, she would no longer be coddled by her mother.

Betelgeuse stood up, still bare in the moonlight, and held out his hands as a dazzling stained glass bowl colored with pinks, blues and greens appeared, containing pomegranate seeds.

"A gift, my love… For when you get hungry. I won't burden you with my presence for any longer.. However, if you miss me, you can always call out for your King. Three times is all it takes.."

He set the bowl carefully onto the bedding and glanced up at her once more before disappearing into a fog. Just as fast as Betelgeuse had come into Lydia's life, he had left.


End file.
